A scene appears. A hand protruding from a black robe, blood splattered across it’s surface. Held in the hand, a long knife. With a thick blade meant for hacking through flesh and bone it is slowly being moved forward. The target for it is in sight, upon a stone platform is a body. Similarly blood splattered with armour rent in many places. There were even arrows imbedded into the plate armour of the figure. Lying upon the platform it at first seemed motionless, until you saw the twitching hand. Looking around there are similar scenes. Stone platforms at waist height, with bodies in various states upon them. A morgue, holding the recently slain.
The view continues forward and the knife in the hand rises yet for some reason as a hand is placed upon the twitching figures helm the blade is pointed downward. Why was this strange? The blade was not pointed at the figure but instead heading to a point between the body and the person. The broken helm of the figure, rent with a mighty blow perhaps from an axe on the left side such that it exposes a portion of the face. A cut is seen just above the eye, the helmet apparently having not accomplished its purpose from the amount of blood. Yet as the blade continues to descend in slow motion the one closed eye opens. A hazel green eye is seen, wild in panic. Fear and then a desperate desire flashes through. Bloodied gauntlets spring into action as the descending knife is grasped at the handle.
Cold metal gauntlets crusted with blood grasp a pale hand. The blade is turned further away, the tip plunging into the black robe of the figure. Bright red blood begins to leak as the blade goes from the right side of the figure’s torso across the pelvis and into the left leg as it was taking a step forward. A grunt of pain is heard as the blade sinks inches into the thigh. Before it goes further however the pale hand finally reacts and halts the knife. Blood flowing even more across both figures their eyes apparently meet. Yet just as suddenly the gauntleted hands drop back down, their strength spent. Yet the eyes do not stop staring. Tired, but fierce. If this is the end then it will be faced head on.
The pale hand raises the blade up from the wound and more blood flows out. It raises it inches up and then stops. The other hand reaches out and grasps the robe sleeve of the knife hand. Blade turned to the side it wipes the blood off before sheathing the blade on the hip sheath to the right side of the body. Hand still slick with blood both his own and from the encrusted gauntlet the figure touches first the slash mark on his torso and pelvis. Blood stops flowing and even seems to reverse, pale flesh untorn is seen from the rent in the robe. Then it repeats with the stab wound in the left thigh, only a faint seemingly long healed scar is seen. From there pale hands move forward and unclasp the rent helmet of the figure. Deep red hair falling just pass the jaw of the figure cascades from the helmet.
Confusion and defiance is seen in the eyes, confusion even more so as the hand of the figure is placed upon the cut. More blood melts and flows and the cut is gone, only a pale mark iin the skin as a reminder of the wound. The hands travel along the figure removing clasps and buckles from the plate armour. Soon it moves to the gauntlets and picking one up in both hands slowly and with precision removes it. Scarred and callused hands are seen, bruised, battered, and nicked. More blood flows as the bruises retreat and the small nicks close. Removing the outer armour to reveal the linen undersuit of cloth shows more cuts and apparent bruising. Wounds are healed as the hand wanders from the foot upward, past slender legs and thin hips. With not even a sign of pausing the hand continues up past the slight bulge of the chest and to a cut on the shoulder. Confusion and anxiety readily apparent on the female knight on the platform. Eventually once all the wounds on the front are healed and the armour placed by the foot of the platform the apparent black robed healer moves to stand by the head of the knight.
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Hands raising the head of red hair a large blood plastered bruise is seen and gone in seconds. Moving to the side the healer slowly helps the figure upright and attends to the wounds of the pale back. Once past only slightly pale flesh is seen through the many tears of the cloth. Even on the head there is barely a mark, only cheeks now flushed from the cold of the room. Finally as the hands finish moving across with no more wounds the healer adjusts his robe slightly, turning the cloth sleeves of his robe back to full length form where they were folded. Taking a slight moment to stand still the bloodstains of the robe are removed, while not pristine it is certainly sanitary once more. The same occurs for the knight as the red stains turn to dust and with a flick of a hand flow away. The healer turns and walks to a door back whence he had come. Past the other bodies not so fortunate to have simply been knocked unconscious. Something now more readily apparent to the knight as finally shock sets in as the mind returns to her.
The whine of a door opening echoes as footsteps resound on stone. Minutes seem to pass as silence reigns once more. The knight attempts to get off the moratory platform she is one but cannot. Weak struggles halted all she can do is wait. Finally after what may as well be an eternity the figure returns with a wheeled chair and robes draped upon the chair’s back. Bringing the large wheeled contraption forward to the knight the healer halts. With the plain robe draped on one arm, the healer helps the knight upright and places the robe onto her. Then the healer aids the knight in stepping down from the platform and to the wheeled chair. Once safely upon it the healer begins to move the patient out. Finally apparently having gathered her wits once more the knight leans back in the chair and turns her head to face the robed man.
“Thank you, and sorry for stabbing you healer”
“Your words are unneeded, though appreciated in both cases. However I am not a healer, I am a necromancer”
Eyes fluttering open I see plain gray cloth above me. Looking around I see curtains drawn around a bed, also of the same drab gray. Looking up I see a pale hand, slight calluses upon it. There used to be more there, along with scars. But then again having your body rebuild by a divinity apparently means no need to perfectly recreate it. The marks one builds up on their body speaks of their history. While some caused problems such as sensitivity, aching, or other such events they were still reminders. Something to remember later on. Then again almost getting your privates sliced along with a stab wound is not always the best. Certainly an amusing story to bring up later on about first meetings and how you met your lover. Sigh.... clenching my hand and once again affirming that things have changed I decide to get up. I have my responsibilities here now, getting up from bed I gesture to the waiting skeleton butler. A simple morning robe on I head to the washroom to prepare myself. Perhaps a hot towel, something to help hold this melancholy back.